Sammy Hagar Chick

Sometimes, when I don't know what to say, I just start talking and see what comes out. This is occasionally a good idea, but frequently a bad one.

Once, I went on a first date with a nice young lady with gorgeous, tightly-curled, shoulder length blonde locks that she wore down for our date. Athletically built, she wore an army green, fitted tank-top that emphasized her toned arms, and faded and worn blue jeans with a big, black, silver-buckled belt and black Converse sneakers. Black wrap-around sunglasses rounded out her ensemble.

It became fairly evident on the 40-minute drive from Provo to Salt Lake City --where we planned to watch a laser light show -- that we didn't have much in common. So by the time we exited the car in downtown Salt Lake, I was pretty much out of things to say. Unfortunately, before my brain could stop it, my mouth, not knowing what else to say, said "You know, you look a lot like Sammy Hagar."

She stopped in mid-stride and shot me a acrid look. "Van Halen Sammy Hagar?"

Realizing I had unwittingly entered enemy waters, I tried turn the ship around. "Well, yeah. I mean, just, like, your hair. And your belt. I mean, if he were a girl -- like, a really feminine one -- he might look kind of like you, with the tank-top and glasses and all. I really like Converse. I have a pair. They kind of make my feet look like water skis though. But not yours, I mean. I really, really like mustard. Do you like mustard?"

That's probably not exactly what I said, but it didn't really matter. She didn't say much to me for the rest of the date, even though I kept kind of hoping she'd just suddenly get the urge to humor me and start singing "Poundcake" or something. But she didn't. And I married someone else. So there.